


heart ollies and all that shit

by beetime



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Canon Compliant, Epilouges, Fix-It, Fix-it fic, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Meat route, POV Second Person, The Epilouges, bc its a hs fic yeah, except no dirk bc fuck that guy, meat - Freeform, the Davekat Scene yall already know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetime/pseuds/beetime
Summary: “Well,” you say. Your voice is unpleasantly foreign to your own ears in the least xenophobic way possible. “Okay then.”You look into Karkat’s eyes like you’ve done so many times before. You know they’re the same as always, sparkling and gorgeous and lantern-like. There’s a Tangled reference in there somewhere that you can’t work out because you’re having a sharp, vivid déjà vu to the very first time you did this, so many years ago, just stared down your best bro and felt your heart attempt to do a goddamn olly out of your chest, except now his eyes are so, so open and bright and all for you, so this time it just decides to want to fucking stop. You tell it to calm the fuck down, because Karkat’s still looking at you.✦that scene from the meat route of the epilogues but it's just dave and karkat





	heart ollies and all that shit

**Author's Note:**

> deadass i aint commenting on the state of the epilouges i feel like doin that shits more loaded than publicly proclaiming any political stance. so. imma write this. then like. uhhhhh. a better version of the epilouges. a short one, tho, bc i aint good at retaining all this scientific shit and all the events n yadda yadda. 
> 
> dick god dirk may not be able to do this shit but i sure as shit can  
> 

“Well,” you say. Your voice is unpleasantly foreign to your own ears in the least xenophobic way possible. “Okay then.”

You look into Karkat’s eyes like you’ve done so many times before. You know they’re the same as always, sparkling and gorgeous and lantern-like. There’s a Tangled reference in there somewhere that you can’t work out because you’re having a sharp, vivid déjà vu to the very first time you did this, so many years ago, just stared down your best bro and felt your heart attempt to do a goddamn olly out of your chest, except now his eyes are so, so open and bright and all for you, so this time it just decides to want to fucking stop. You tell it to calm the fuck down, because Karkat’s still looking at you.

It comes with the territory, now. A familiar bass drop to a tragically well-known song in your head Karkat sets off without even knowing it.

(The song’s hours long. Loud as fuck. So many explicates daytime radio could play maybe five words of it.)

Karkat’s look doesn’t waver but his voice does, “D…Dave?”

You remember hating his voice at first. You remember it calling you every name in the book, _fuckass_ to _fuckmunch_ to just plain ol’ _fuck_ —

(Maybe there’s subtext there. It’s too late to ponder that.)

“Karkat.”

And then the first time. The first time you were  _dude_ around a laugh and _bro_ , soft, worried, and finally, _finally_ , _Dave_ , exasperated yet painfully heart-olly-inducing.

“I…”

You breathe and it feels like bursting, but despite that it drives you to lift a trembling hand and slowly close the distance between you to brush your thumb against Karkat’s cheek. It’s soft and you knew it would be soft but it jolts you anyway. He freezes in place.

You don’t know if that’s good or bad. But you have to push through.

“I… I think I…”

Karkat’s lips part on the next slow brush of your thumb and you feel him stop breathing. His luminous eyes are impossibly wider than usual. He looks beautiful like this, you think. This may be the most you’ve ever wanted to put your mouth on his, and that’s saying something. So why the fuck is there this—this uneasy feeling at the back of your neck?

You ignore it. You were wrong before, you resolve being wrong again. You start to lean in. Karkat closes his eyes like slowly dimming candles and relaxes into your hand, fitting your fingers behind the bolt of his jaw.

Then there’s a voice. Barely that, more the implication of one, one that you recognize too well.

It makes _you_ freeze.

“Wait.”

Again. Again, there it is. The house is cold as shit, always, so you know that heat is your head.

“Fuck.”

It’s in your head. Heat and paranoia and that voice. It’s mad, mad at you like it always was, confrontational—and—and—

Karkat’s eyes open again, but they’re slightly panicked. “What’s wrong?” He starts pulling back, “Did I do someth—“

“No,” you say and you wish you could say it a thousand more times, a million different ways because, _no, Karkat, it’s not you, Jesus, it’s me, ha, one sec_ , “I just can’t.” You shut your eyes now. You need a second. “Shit. It just feels like—“

There. Again. A-fucking-gain.

_Don’t worry about it._

Oh, you fucking will. No long dead motherfucker’s about to tell you what to fucking do, not _now_ of all fucking times.

“What the fuck is going on,” you mumble and open your eyes again. Karkat’s panic morphing to regular Karkat Konfusion (patent pending), a line between his miraculous eyebrows. He isn’t pulling away completely. So. That’s something.

“This feels really off.”

Karkat blinks at you. He raises one of those eyebrows, thankfully incredulous.

You make a satisfactory _I don’t know noise_ and resolve in saying, “I just keep having thoughts I know I’d never think.”

Like thinking Karkat could ever be _his_. Like Karkat was something he wants to _own_ not wants, period.

_Oh, come the fuck on._

You jolt and, on instinct, tell God, or Bro (because that’s who it sounds like. not Dirk, _Bro_ ), or God-Bro, _No,_ you _come the fuck on._

_What the fuck._

Karkat’s being careful. Treading lightly. You are aware you’re being treated like a child or maybe a very sensitive landmine. One of his hands that’s braced on the couch moves and brushes your knee, “What is that supposed to mean?”

You search. For anything to say. Anything that’s not what you’re thinking. But if you can’t find the right words for something with _Karkat_ , then shit’s really fucked. “I have no idea,” you whisper. Fuck. _Fuck_. “I’m sorry.”

You pull away and feel like you’re gonna be sick. You don’t even know what Karkat looks like, if not lost.

There’s still the pressure. The voice. Once again just the presence, the knowing that there’s something there trying to _make_ you. Make you—

Make you.

And as if hearing you and considering it, it backs the fuck off. You dig your fingers into the couch cushion.

So now it’s just you and Karkat and your own dumbass instincts going haywire. Shit’s not even the scene from Spongebob where all the files are being burned because you don’t have enough braincells for that cacophony. It’s just you. One tiny you, screaming at the top of his lungs.

But you have to cap him off and tell him to nut the fuck up. You know you can’t brush that off, not like the long and loaded eye contact or the hands brushing—

Or rather. You can. But you don’t want to. You want Karkat to get it. You know Karkat has some amount of ability to, too, because he wasn’t exactly calling for the sheriff since you were about to defile his—

Buddy, _focus_.

Karkat hadn’t pulled away. Karkat never does. Not if you don’t. The little screaming you goes quiet. He facepalms. Yeah, dude. Yeah.

You’d glued your eyes to a nebulous point beyond Karkat’s shoulder. Now you slide your eyes back and they clack together with Karkat’s like magnets. His are less open now. More a suggestion that the door’s unlocked and ready for you to peer in. It’s staring you in the face. All along, it’s been Karkat, all this time. You see it so fucking plainly on him. Sincerity is a gorgeous color on him, you think

You make the decision then. And you can’t pussy out, because the only person who would know about the pussyfooting is yourself and then you’d just be a coward for the rest of your immortal life.

You find you don’t even have to steel yourself. You just reach up and push your shades up onto your head. Your bangs are pushed back and only a few nearly translucent strands fall back over your forehead.

Karkat’s frozen shitless. He looks like you’d just reached down into your throat and taken your heart out for him to look at. Which you, like. Kind of have. It makes it all that harder for you to ignore the tether like the sharp top of an electric fence between the two of you, everything silent except for the faint buzzing, the unsaid knowing of what all this is.

You want to say something. It’s pure instinct. It’s quiet. You’re Dave Strider, it shouldn’t be quiet for this long in a room you currently inhabit, especially when it’s Screamy McNubs sitting less than two feet away.

So you can’t talk. That’s ruled out. All you can do now is ACT. Act.

So you do it again. Hand on Karkat’s cheek, thumb sweeping the rise of his cheekbone, with _feeling_ , purpose, now, Strider. You decided already. No pussyfooting. Game time. Game face.

Which you’re absolutely sure must be as lovestruck as you feel. Because this. This feels right.

Karkat’s strings are snipped one by one, shoulders, spine, the filter over his face. They drop and he puts a sure hand over yours, lined up so his stubby fingers dip between your longer ones. He tugs and guides your hand to rest on the back of his neck.

You feel like you might freak out for a second and you don’t know why. Miraculously, you don’t, because even more miraculously, Karkat reads your mind and squeezes your fingers before dropping his hand to your knee. You’re not even aware of the fact that you’re drawing him to you until his forehead bumps against yours. You don’t move away.

Karkat is inhaling through his nose, exhaling shakily through his mouth, an almost alcoholic scent of Listerine because the guy can’t go two seconds with dirty teeth. Though, you guess that could come in handy right at the moment.

Then his breath hitches. You haven’t looked away from his eyes but you went unfocused and inner-monologuey so it’s only now that you notice that there’s pink tears caught in Karkat’s impossibly long eyelashes as they start to flutter. You may be following suit, except for the pink thing. It’s just so much. It’s everything.

He licks his lips. Christ, how many times’ve you thought about his goddamn _lips_? Too many. Totally not cool, Dave. Totally not hetero.

But you focus. Focus. Don’t let yourself wander. Because, like magnetizing, you both lean in.

And just fucking—

Freeze.

Because this is it.

And there’s something wrong.

It’s that goddamn—motherfucking, okay one _second_ —

You don’t pull back so much as let go of Karkat to press knuckles into your temples. It’s pounding in your head like an annoying fucking bug. You risk looking at Karkat but he has the same strained expression.

_Of course you do, Karkles. We’re soulmates. Give me a second to scream at the God-Bro and we’ll be back on track._

You grit your teeth. You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry without it all being inverted. Even moreso when you let your hands fall and you whip your head around to it—him—whatever the fuck, the world, maybe, because that bitch is also a dick and shout, “Get the _fuck_ out of my head and just let me do this myself!”

Because all Bro ever fucking craved was control. You know the feeling like liquid malevolence behind something like that. But that ain’t about to be this. You won’t let it.

You turn back to Karkat. He’s alarmed, to say the least. His hand’s still on your knee. His lips part. You’re too far away, you don’t feel the hitch in his breath this time and you miss it. You miss him and he’s literally rubbing his palm over your knee.

That’s it.

“Dude,” you murmur, and reach for his face with both hands, “come here.”

You very much do lunge. Like there’s a fairly large beast about to pounce on you and the only means of a relatively quick escape is to plant a wet one on Karkat. Though it’s not wet despite Karkat having licked his lips earlier.

It’s skin on skin. Karkat has the brilliant idea of tilting his head before the actual collision so your noses only graze lightly like passing pirate ships with no beef instead of jamming head on. You close your eyes so your eyelashes are tangling with his and relax.

Karkat’s hand moves up to your hip, your waist. He pulls you closer. It’s the longest, least active kiss you’ve ever had. Just this. It’s just this moment to focus on. Just how good Karkat smells and how he feels and how much you’ve _wanted_ this and it’s _normal_ and not some kind of fucking event.

You part for a second with the soft sound of your mouths sliding away from each other. You open your eyes. Karkat’s open with yours. He’s only looking at your lips, wondrously, for a few seconds before realizing you’re staring.

He’s crying. A fat tear beads between your thumb and your index finger and you brush it away. He brings his free hand up to your face and mirrors the motion because, oh. You too. You too.

“Dave,” he says and his voice cracks straight down the middle before _he_ kisses _you_. It’s the same kind of kiss, closed mouths and careful grips, except this time your eyes are open. Mostly for the proximity, if you’re being honest. The reassurance that this is real.

It’s real. You sob, almost, more just the sound of the release of _something_ that makes you part your lips so Karkat’s slot between yours. The motion of you pushing forward again makes your mouths slide together softly and you can taste him and it’s fucking great. You might cut out everything (even Doritos, you realize with a jolt) if it meant getting this again. Fuck the wine, you’re strictly sticking to Karkeuila from now on. Karkarita.

You can’t focus on coming up with anything else. Especially when Karkat snorts, the sides of his mouth pulling up, because you were probably saying some of that out loud, and it should make everything awkward, but you find yourself smiling too.

You inch away because it is awkward after a second. You mean the inch. Every other proximity still stands except for your lips and they still brush every other breath.

“I feel like…” You feel yourself go boneless at his voice. It’s all scratchy and breathless with feeling. “Like it should be raining.”

You snort, now. Of course. Of course. Y’all’s first kiss should’ve definitely been a romcom cliché. Not that there’s not still time to do that.

So you try. Because you’re leaning into the cliché and, for once in your twenty-three years of life it’s—

Holy shit. You almost can’t even think it. The thought’s even more foreign the kissing Karkat.

(Because you thought about that. A lot.)

It’s.

Unironic.

You press another short kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’s bright, bright red. Turned Christmas light.

Speaking of clichés: in the movies it’s always framed like this shit’s just an in-the-moment realization. You’re pretty sure there’s no Katherine Heigl movie where she wasn’t yelling at her guy two scene before some hanky panky goes on. But the everything isn’t new. You feel just the same, a shaken up bottle of Dr. Decade-of-Denial about to pop, finally, finally.

“I feel like…”

You uncap.

“I-I’m pretty sure I’m flushed as shit for you, dude.” You add the _dude_ on shakily. It’s a very half-hazard dude. Like a failsafe. Like y’all weren’t macking on each other and crying not two seconds earlier. Because you’re cool.

You’re little brain-Dave is momentarily joined by an exasperated brain-Rose facepalming and groaning, _Dav_ id.

You startle when Karkat suddenly pats the side of your face. You should probably stop zoning out, damn.

His eyes are wide, searching yours. You swallow and you’re pretty sure he can feel it against his pinky. He bites his already swollen bottom lip and you have the wild thought that maybe letting him do that to your lip wouldn’t be _so_ bad.

Karkat doesn’t kiss you this time. He pulls you closer, your noses mashing together as he had so valiantly avoided earlier, but you absolutely ignore it because he chokes out, “I love you too.”

You make a strange ass fucking noise. So strange, in fact, that Karkat nearly jumps back. But you hug him closer, shaking your head. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and stain his collar with tears and snot.

You’re pretty sure this is your hoodie anyway, it doesn’t matter. Mayhaps that’s another reason you did this: you love Karkat in your clothes.

He clutches at the back of your shirt with his blunt nails, not crying quite as hard as you but definitely shaking with something. This feels like cauterization. A long oozing wound finally being closed up, healing up for good.

You feel yourself start laughing. “Bro, we’re gonna have to, like. Tell people about this.”

“Who the fuck said that?” Karkat pulls back, looking his livid, normal self despite the cherry pink tear tracks drying on his face. “Let them figure it out for themselves if they’re so goddamn intelligent.”

“Well, IDK if this is gonna disappoint you, but they’re gonna be able to suss us out pretty quick ‘cause I’m literally never letting you go again,” you state and drop one arm to wind around his waist firmly.

Karkat blinks and makes a show of rolling his eyes despite how he’s starting to smile, pulling back. You don’t let go.

You realize that maybe you guys are gonna have to learn to deal with this too, because it’s only been three minutes, and already the fact that Karkat just leans in and kisses you like breathing because he _wants_ to might give you an aneurysm. But you guess the immortal life thing was getting too boring as it was.

**Author's Note:**

> i do think that if dave were to hear ult dirk how he was he would hear more bro than dirk for obvious reasons; i also dont think the dirk he initially met is that same dirk bc of how his awareness has spread to make him so villain-y. so that's why there's that. also this is why i couldnt finish krbk week tho i still have the piece i WILL """finish"" w almost done so give me a sec sksksksk
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://vstupidloud.tumblr.com/)


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